


The Bitter End

by IroncladValkyrie



Category: Hellsing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IroncladValkyrie/pseuds/IroncladValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had been doomed from the start, and having failed to act was a sin in itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter End

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfic for Shoriani, who loves this pairing. A certain, very obvious, song reminds me of them so I felt inspired to write this and try to include small pieces of the lyrics in it without it being a songfic proper. Someday I will write something not angsty, I promise!

 

_ He should have seen it coming. _

  


Those were the words that rung in his mind, past the explosions, past the screams, past the sounds of bullets. He made his way to where Enrico Maxwell was, floating over the carnage, pondering, had he been truly so anesthetized in the comfort of his embrace that a veil obscured his vision?

No, he had seen it; he had just preferred to play blind to what was plainly standing before him, clad first in young men's clothing, then in priest's robes.

  


Therefore, Father Alexander Anderson’s feeling when he had realized what had happened had not been as much anger as it had been a deep sense of disappointment and the chorus of harbingers finally come true singing in his ears.

He had seen it coming, from the moment the child had come under his care, full of an anger and pain that did not dissipate like the others' despite his efforts.

Through the lingering looks that he had given him with those violet eyes during his adolescence and he had pretended to neither notice nor return.

Past the moment when he had cornered him in his office, already in a much higher ecclesiastical position than himself, and pressed his small frame into his broad one, unafraid of being crushed or rejected. He knew he had won then, lips against his own, and caresses that ignored his warnings until he had given in. Thus he had fallen.

To the time when he had turned to him before he departed with a smile that had too much greed and pride and lust, and _sin,_ and talked with grandiosity about his new title.

  


Archbishop.

  


Archbishop. 

  


It rolled off that tongue that he thought he knew so well with so much pride that it made his heart ache. The younger man had spoken hurriedly about the war that loomed over them, about how the enormity of the enemies’ armies was not a deterrent because God would stand by them as he had done for his chosen people. 

“You should not twist the words of our Lord for your own desires, Enrico.”

His words fell on deaf ears and he did not insist, another mistake to add to his heavy load of sins.

  


Was he any worse than his pupil, though? This question weighed on his mind when he did what needed to be done. In a manner, he had overstepped his own boundaries, because scripture stated well that the humbling of the proud belonged only to the Lord.

He was nonetheless damned,  _ they _ had been damned from the very beginning and he had known. Interceptions, thirsts, comfort; it had all passed with a bitterness that he had ignored, pushed aside, and drunk straight from the chalice until there was not a drop left.

So when he had the lifeless body of this man laying across his lap, flesh pierced by spears and eyes that looked into the void, he could only wonder whether him aiding his death had been a murder or a suicide, a suicide that had fostered in him from the moment that their paths had crossed. 

 

 

 


End file.
